


scripts

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [15]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8113687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “What did he do?” David asks, looking up. “Sorry, I know—”
“You really want to know?” Robbie interrupts. Two birds with the one ugly fucking stone that’s sitting in him: stops the tentative prying, lets Chaps know what’s up. If he thought about it he’d have shut up and do things the way he planned, but he’s not really thinking much. Shit regarding Georgie tends to have that effect on him, has from the fucking start. “He broke my fucking heart, okay? I’m trying to be civil.”





	

Robbie wakes up bright and early on his papa’s birthday, way earlier than he needs to. Some of that probably has to do with the fact his mouth is dry, tastes like shit, and he can’t go back to sleep because the second he wakes up he’s flashing right on back to Georgie talking out of his fucking ass, saying shit that — Robbie doesn’t want to think about it. He’s not going to think about it.

What he ends up thinking about instead isn’t necessarily, like — it’s better, but it’s not really good, either. It’s the way Chaps flinched back at the start of the night when Robbie and Volkie were tooling around fake flirting, that blink and you’d miss it recoil, the way it keeps cropping up. He gets a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge, tries to think of something else, but it’s like a stone in his stomach, thankfully pushing out that other, worse stone for the moment, but not like. Not good. At all. And not something he can keep ignoring. He thought he could, or at least maybe put off a little bit, but the way it lingers with him, like bile in his throat, the more he knows he’s going to dwell on it and make it bigger and worse in his head than it might actually be, so he should probably talk to Chaps sooner rather than later about it.

He works himself up a little, deciding what he’s going to say, has a speech ready by the time Matty’s alarm goes off. Not word for word or anything, it shifts when Robbie practices it in his head, but basically ‘when you react like you do to anything that could be construed as gay, such as me and Volkie joking last night, it makes me really uncomfortable, because I’m gay’. Not accusing Chaps of being a homophobe, putting the emphasis on his own feelings. Basically textbook. He thinks he’s got this, at least the parts of it in his control, and he almost feels okay. Resolved. Hell, his good morning to Matty is downright chipper, though maybe just in comparison to Matty’s grunt as he shuffles to the bathroom.

He checks NHL news every morning like clockwork. It’s a pretty weird hold over from when he was a teenager and checked it before school because he missed the Western Conference games due to need for sleep, especially since sometimes he knows the dudes, but this morning it works out, because they post the All-Star roster like two minutes before he checks.

“Matty, go tell Crane he’s an All-Star,” Robbie yells to the closed bathroom door.

“He’ll just say ‘obviously’ and then I’ll have to hit him for being an arrogant asshole,” Matty calls back, which. Fair. Both Crane’s ‘obviously’ and Matty whacking him for it.

Chaps is also on the roster, which wasn’t as guaranteed — first place fucking prodigy goalie doesn’t make the All-Star team, a lot of eyebrows are going up. Chaps definitely deserves it, though. Robbie considers whether he should wait to talk to him. Chaps is probably going to be in a good mood? That may make things easier. On the other hand, kind of a dick move to hijack someone’s good mood for your own purposes.

Fuck it, Robbie decides. He’s worked himself up already, and it’s not like David’s never made the All-Star roster before.

It’s kind of funny that he’s telling Chaps on his father’s birthday, since that also happens to be when he told his papa. Probably why he’s thinking about it, to be honest, why it hit simmering. It was super great timing from teenage Robbie, ‘Happy birthday papa, I’m gay, oh you’re just going to…pretend I don’t exist for a couple days, okay. Happy birthday again!’. His father’s okay with it now, at least okay enough that he’s been gossiping about fucking _Georgie_ to Isabella. He was really nice to Georgie when they were together, though, always seemed to like him, so maybe it was more Georgie than the gay thing. Peppered him with more questions about what his plans were than Robbie got from him when he signed with the Caps. Whether he’d checked Cleveland out, how he felt about the Barons, whether he thought that he’d be a franchise player, what he thought his long term role was going to be. Georgie rallied pretty well considering he went in for a dinner with his boyfriend’s parents and accidentally stepped into an bizarro world interview with his GM. 

His papa likes go-getters, successes. Would probably really like Chaps, who is like the most go-getter-y success Robbie knows, so maybe it’s fitting after all.

Robbie bangs on David’s door, “Hey All-Star, come get breakfast!” He’s sure David knows by now, but even if he doesn’t, it’s not like it’s some huge surprise, not the way he plays. Robbie would be jealous, but it’s like apples and oranges: he’s sure David would make a pretty shit D-man. It’s like being jealous of Crane or something, whose job Robbie wouldn’t take even for the five million AAV they locked Craney into over the summer.

“Give me fifteen to get dressed,” David calls back, which is an exceptionally long amount of time to get dressed, it’s like the man doesn’t shuck shit on and off in a minute flat in locker rooms or something, but whatever. Robbie can stew for fifteen minutes and work himself up, that’s totally fine. 

“Meet me in the lobby, then,” Robbie tells him, and then spends like, fifteen minutes exactly trying not to pace or wriggle out of his skin or something because once Robbie’s decided on something he prefers to _do_ it. 

There’s no mandatory team breakfast today, since it’s basically an off-day until they leave for Tampa, so Robbie drags him to a breakfast place like two minutes from the hotel that’s always been decent. It’s kind of deserted, which is good. Like, privacy, check. Robbie asks for a spot by the back anyway, in case some teammates are also not feeling hotel breakfast today. It gets old really quick. 

Robbie doesn’t want to spring it on him right away or anything, figures a dude should have coffee in him — or tea in David’s case, Robbie guesses — before any big shit goes down. Asks David about the All-Star game instead until their food comes, and David gets this weird look on his face when he talks about it, like he kind of wants to smile, but he’s not sure how or something? Robbie’s seen him smile. Maybe not as much as a lot of the other guys, but Robbie is 100% sure he knows how to do it, so the look on his face just comes out kind of like, frowny happy. Robbie doesn’t know if it’s the all-star thing or what, but it’s definitely not a look he’s seen before.

“I don’t know if you’re smiling or frowning right now,” Robbie says.

“I’m not doing either,” David says.

“And yet somehow you’re doing both,” Robbie says, and that changes the look to Neutral Chapman, which is basically just frowning. Whoops.

“You and Georgie get back safe?” David asks, which feels like retaliation, though Robbie’s sure he’s just trying to change the subject.

“Sure,” Robbie says. Safe’s a word for it. “Lourdes booked it pretty soon after, so we only stuck around for a drink.”

“You guys are…okay, then?” David asks, and Robbie can’t hold back the laugh, because ‘okay’? That is _not_ a word for it.

“Sure, Chaps,” Robbie says sarcastically. “Peachy keen.”

“It’s—,” David says, then looks down, playing with his fork, and Robbie feels like a jerk. It’s not like David’s trying to poke at a sore spot, and it’s not like he knows — well he probably does know it is one, but it’s not like he knows why, or how deep that bruise is.

“I know,” Robbie says. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m trying to be civil.”

“What did he do?” David asks, looking up. “Sorry, I know—”

“You really want to know?” Robbie interrupts. Two birds with the one ugly fucking stone that’s sitting in him: stops the tentative prying, lets Chaps know what’s up. If he thought about it he’d have shut up and do things the way he planned, but he’s not really thinking much. Shit regarding Georgie tends to have that effect on him, has from the fucking start. “He broke my fucking heart, okay? I’m trying to be civil.”

The color in David’s face literally drains away. Robbie’s never seen someone go so stony so fast. This was a stupid fucking idea. Robbie thought — well, maybe Robbie _hoped_ Chaps was just the kind of guy who didn’t know any better, behavior wise. He’s like that in a lot of ways. Hoped maybe it was that, and not actual disgust, but that look? That’s not a look of a dude taking the news well.

“Do you mean—” David asks, like he’s trying to right the ship and send it back to no-homo territory. Robbie’s not going to let him do that, not once it’s — he’s — out.

“That’s a pretty unambiguous statement, David,” Robbie snaps. “But if you need some help, let me lay it out for you: we were together, he fucked me over, now we’re not. Clear enough, or do you want me to tell you the size of his dick?”

David flinches like Robbie just slapped him in the face with said dick. “I need to go,” David chokes out.

“That’s what I thought,” Robbie says. Not even sure David hears him, he was out of his chair so fucking fast, like maybe Robbie’s gay was contagious. But that’s not really true. Robbie thought — Robbie _hoped_. Maybe expected awkward, uncomfortable. Maybe David muttering platitudes and avoiding him or something, worst case, but this.

Well, pretty fitting he told David on his father’s birthday, considering. Though papa didn’t walk out on him, just went still as stone and stayed that way until Robbie left on his own volition. David didn’t even give him that option.

Robbie sits at the table he doesn’t know how long, before the waitress brings the bill. It’s weirdly this that tips Robbie from numb to fucking furious. Like, who the fuck does that? Walks out when Robbie’s fucking _coming out_ and sticks him with the fucking bill. 

“Fuck,” Robbie says, loud enough to startle an older couple two tables over. He’d apologize, but honestly, he’s not in the fucking mood, and they’re in their sixties, they’re not five, they can handle a few fucking curses. He rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck,” he repeats, muffled against his palm, leaves enough behind a 50% tip because he can’t handle just sitting here right now and waiting for his change, and interacting with someone even for the length of processing his credit card makes him feel kind of nauseated.

Matty’s out when Robbie gets back, which is probably good, because at least there’s no one there to see him face plant onto his bed, kick the mattress a couple times, swallow past the lump that’s been in his throat since David walked out on him.

“Fuck,” he whispers into his pillow, and it gets swallowed up so fast he’s not even sure he said it out loud.

*

So like. Robbie gets broken up with, and it fucking sucks. It’s never happened to him before, but now he is getting the level of suckitude. It is not a fun experience and he does not recommend it, 1/5, would not return. Robbie’s kind of wallowing in it a little, because he is legit sad, but it’s not like he’s spending all his time staring tragically at his ceiling. He gets an essay done, goes to his classes. He’s a functional sad. 

He’s also kind of sticking around his room to avoid Georgie because he’s afraid if he doesn’t have a script he’s going to blurt the whole thing out. Like, Robbie doesn’t exactly know what he’s going to say if Georgie asks why. “Because he knew about the giant fucking thing I have for you, no homo. Actually. So homo. Sorry about that.” 

He can’t say ‘I don’t know’, because he sucks at lying. ‘We’re too different’ would probably get Georgie smug enough about being right, even though he isn’t really the smug type, to keep him from pushing for details, but that wasn’t actually a problem, really. Settles on ‘just wasn’t working, I guess’. It’s not like it isn’t true. Kind of lame, but it means he doesn’t have to throw Francis under the bus and doesn’t have to address the ugly simmering mess of tension that is Robbie’s feelings for Georgie. Practices it a few times and it’s okay, but he can do better, so between the wallowing, he brainstorms ways of avoiding ‘yeah sorry my boner for you ruins everything’.

Robbie manages two days of hiding before Georgie bangs on his door, which is…honestly about what he expected. Kind of flattering. 

Robbie shouldn’t think that. Shut up Robbie.

“I can see the light under your door!” Georgie yells. “I know you’re in there!”

Robbie groans at the ceiling and rolls off his bed, goes to answer his door, because he’s pretty sure Georgie won’t go away, and if he does it’s because he thinks he’s pissed Robbie off or something. It isn’t fair to let him think he did, since he’s like, the blameless one here.

“Dude, I’ve been texting you,” Georgie says. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Sulking, I guess,” Robbie says.

“What’s up?” Georgie says.

“Um,” Robbie says. “Francis dumped me?” He shrugs.

“Oh shit,” Georgie says. “You okay?”

Robbie shrugs again.

“I’m getting you drunk,” Georgie says.

“I’m really not feeling going out right now,” Robbie says. “Sorry, dude.”

“Who said anything about going out?” Georgie says. “Wait here.”

It’s not like Robbie has anywhere else to be, so he leaves the door ajar and returns to wallowing until Georgie returns with a bottle of vodka. Drinking with Georgie sounds like the opposite of a good idea? Robbie should shut this down before it starts.

“Where do you keep getting this shit?” Robbie asks instead. 

“Braden bet me Team USA was getting Gold,” Georgie says. “Gave it to me when we got back. I’ve been holding onto it, figure now’s as good a time as any.”

“You bet against your _country_?” Robbie asks. “Your _team_?”

“I bet _for_ free vodka,” Georgie says. “So if I lost, at least there was vodka waiting for me. If I won, I wouldn’t even care about the vodka because victory. It was a solid strategy.”

“Traitor,” Robbie says. “Turncoat. Benedict Arnold.”

“Hey, nothing against the Finns, beat us fair and square,” Georgie says. “They make a dece vodka too.”

“Ugh, even your vodka is traitorous,” Robbie says. 

“You’re drinking for free, shut it,” Georgie says.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Robbie says.

“No kidding,” Georgie says, knocking his hip against Robbie’s. “No mixer, so.”

“So drinking my pain will taste like rubbing alcohol,” Robbie says. “Awesome.”

“You want my traitor vodka or not?” Georgie asks.

‘Not’ is the right answer. Robbie even has a good excuse! It’s downright un-American to drink the traitor vodka.

“Ugh, give it here,” Robbie says.

“What happened?” Georgie asks after Robbie takes the first swig.

Robbie shrugs, swallows. It burns going down.

“If you don’t want to talk about it,” Georgie says.

“Just wasn’t working out,” Robbie says.

“That it?” Georgie says.

Robbie shrugs again, and they pretty much quit talking after that. Robbie _doesn’t_ want to talk about it, especially with the whole tongue loosened thing, and Georgie’s not an idiot, so he changed the subject to Cam’s latest ridiculous scheme, but when that winds down they fall into silence. Usually silence makes Robbie itchy, uncomfortable, but he doesn’t really mind it right now, just leans on Georgie as they pass the bottle back and forth and Georgie bobs his head to the Wiz Khalifa he put on when shit got quiet. 

Once they hit the halfway point in the bottle Robbie realizes he’s like. He’s pretty drunk. He does shots sometimes, but that’s usually like, one shot then one beer kind of deal, all spread out, not a mouthful of it every time Georgie passes the bottle over. 

He’s clingy when he’s drunk, and he knows it, so it’s probably not surprising that he ends up sitting too close, the two of them squeezed sideways on the bed, touching from their arms down to their ankles. At some point he nudged even closer to Georgie, and Georgie didn’t pull back, so by the time he notices he’s basically got his face tucked into Georgie’s shoulder, so close that if he leaned forward even a little his lips would brush the bare skin over his collar. That’s. Robbie shouldn’t be thinking about that. Fuck. 

Robbie pulls back quick enough he almost overbalances, and Georgie reaches for him, steadies him before he pitches himself off the bed.

“What’s up?” Georgie asks.

“I dunno,” Robbie says. “Just. Thanks, I guess?”

Georgie looks at him seriously, like he’s trying to figure out what Robbie’s not saying, and Robbie really fucking hopes it isn’t written all over his face. Meets Robbie’s eyes for a second before he like…blink and you’d miss it looks at Robbie’s mouth. Or maybe he doesn’t. Robbie’s drunk, and sad, and projecting all over Georgie because he’s a shit fucking friend who lets his feelings bleed all over the place. Lost himself a boyfriend that way. He really doesn’t want to lose a friend that way too. 

“Maybe you should go, though,” Robbie says, looks down at his hands so he’s not looking at Georgie, saying whateverthefuck with his face.

“You sure?” Georgie says. “I can stick around. I’m fine sticking around.”

“It’s cool,” Robbie says. “I just need to be alone I think.”

“Okay,” Georgie says, and before Robbie can brace himself he’s got his face right back in Georgie’s throat because Georgie’s pulling him in for a hug at the worst possible time. Robbie feels kind of like he’s going to cry and kind of like he’s going to get hard, tons of vodka or not, which is a super weird and awkward combination. He can’t exactly pull out of the hug without looking like a jerk, but he’s relieved as hell when Georgie pulls away.

“Breakfast tomorrow?” Georgie asks.

“Sure,” Robbie says. “Sounds good.”

“Good,” Georgie says. He scoots off the bed, then kind of shifts from foot to foot like he wants to say something, but in the end it’s just, “Night, feel better, dude,” and right out the door, closing it behind him so Robbie doesn’t have to get up, at least not until he realizes he just wants to sleep, and he has to get up, feeling a bit wobbly, hit the light and kick his pants off.

Things are kind of swimmy when he lies down, and he shuts his eyes, tries to sleep but there’s a problem with that, which is that horny won and vodka lost and Robbie’s fucking hard thanks to Georgie being a decent fucking human being and giving him a totally not sexual hug.

“If you jerk off to your best friend comforting you, you are a total asshole who just proved Francis right,” Robbie says, opening his eyes to stare up into the darkness. He can’t see the ceiling, but he thinks it’s judging him. Can’t blame it one bit. “Just so you know, Roberto.”

The ceiling keeps silently judging him. Robbie can feel it judging him. He sticks a hand down his boxers. “I’m doing it, but I won’t enjoy it,” Robbie tells it.

It’s pretty good, actually, minus the whole crushing shame thing that follows.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m judging myself too,” Robbie tells the ceiling, then figures it’s best if he rolls onto his stomach to sleep.


End file.
